


Guarding the Fowl

by letitrainathousandflames



Series: Major Butler's Classified Files [2]
Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Bombing, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, F/M, Gun Violence, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also didn't y'all ask for Major Butler and Arty Senior's adventures?, anyway, buckle up my fellas, fowl sir was not a cool guy right off the bat, he was kind of an asshole, more then he is in canon i mean, off to another angst extravaganza, so here we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letitrainathousandflames/pseuds/letitrainathousandflames
Summary: And here we are ready for another Major Butler adventure. After bringing young Domovoi and baby Juliet to the Fowl manor, Myles Butler spent five years with the Marines, where he was given the nickname "Major" due to his rank. Back to the Manor and having to deal with his new duty as bodyguard to a certain Artemis Fowl on his early twenties and as an uncle to a rebellious teen nephew and a sweet baby niece, the Major has a lot in his hands.





	1. Heist #1

**Author's Note:**

> The Major faces some issues with his nephew, who refuses to connect in the very least with his uncle. Meanwhile, a young Mr. Fowl eager to prove himself comes up with a plan to steal something with the help of his bodyguard. There are no actual eating disorders being pictured, but there are some food-related issues in this chapter, so here's my warning.

After five years in the army, Myles Butler was now mostly known as “major” due to his rank in the Irish Naval Service, which also helped differentiating him from his mother, madam Butler. She had been out with Mr. Fowl since earlier that day, and she had confided to the Major that the man had never been the same ever since his wife had died. Maybe he wouldn’t last long too, not is his cirrhosis didn’t improve in any aspect, but that wasn’t the Major’s main concern. His charge was the younger Fowl, an ambitious twenty-three old man who had spent the last few years planning new ways to expand the family business and follow in his father’s footsteps. Fowl Sir had taken the blow of his wife’s death and decided to retire; Young Mr. Fowl had also taken the blow of his mother’s loss and decided to try and find meaning in being the best criminal in Ireland, and maybe later on, in the world.

Madam Butler would be taking care of Fowl Sir, and the Major was in charge of Artemis, his son. If only bodyguard duty was his only concern…

"Stop stalling and finish your lunch." snapped the Major

Domovoi—that is, _Butler_ , he corrected in his own head, wasn’t well. He just knew it. Sometimes he felt like the only thing keeping that kid sane wasn’t the expensive therapy sessions Mr. Fowl was kindly paying for him without any drawbacks on the Major’s payment, but Juliet’s sole existence. Whenever the little girl giggled, Butler’s eyes would look less dead and glazed, and he’d pet his sister’s hair softly, almost as if he feared to hurt her.

And now the kid wasn’t eating. _Goddamnit._

"Eat. Your. Food." ordered the Major, and Butler sighed loudly, rolling his eyes and still poking his steak with uncertainty "Hey. Cut off this attitude, now. I can’t have you worrying me, I have other matters to attend to, young master Fowl was kind enough to let me watch over the two of you during lunchtime but there is a limit to it. We have business to take care of later on today and I can keep babysitting you all day long."

"I’m not a baby." muttered Butler from the corner of his mouth

"Then stop behaving like one. Eat."

God, he was just like Katya. The Major looked to Juliet, who had behaved perfectly while being fed. The little girl was a really sweet child. Well-behaved, quiet, ate well. Maybe she was just was a little too fond of biting. People, her toys, her older brother’s schoolbooks, everything was worth a bite for little Juliet and her baby teeth. Juliet was four now, and Butler was fourteen. The Major was many things, but he was not cut for teenage rebellion.

"Butler." said he as patiently as he could

"My name is Domovoi."

Now, the kid wouldn’t let it be so easy, would he? The Major grit his teeth, drawing a deep breath.

"Domoi!" piped Juliet cheerfully, laughing to herself.

She still couldn’t say her brother’s name quite right, and the Major wouldn’t encourage her to. The Major frowned, annoyed.

"I know. But we have a rule in this family, Butler." he reinforced the emphasis on their last name "We do not share our first names. With anyone.

Butler didn’t lift his eyes of the lettuce that he seemed to be trying to cut down to a molecular level.

"I don’t care. It’s your stupid tradition, not mine."

"Everyone in our family does this."

"My mom and dad don’t." he hesitated to then let go of his silverware which clanged loudly against the plate "Didn’t. _Shit._ "

_Watch your language_ , the Major almost corrected him, but he knew better. Butler spent every day now looking like he was inches away from a mental breakdown. Butler stood up, turning his back to leave the employer’s dining room.

"Butler, get back here and finish your food.", demanded the Major

"My name is Domovoi." said Butler, not turning to face his uncle, striding towards the door "Call me by my goddamn name if you wanna talk to me."

“Oh, don’t slam the door, don’t slam the door…” whispered the Major, but he could see how hard Butler was pulling it and wasn’t surprised when the loud slam echoed in the kitchen “Damn it.”

Juliet started crying, startled by the sudden loud noise, and the Major rushed to kneel next to her tall chair, speaking very softly:

“No, no, darling, it’s okay, everything’s okay…”

Juliet, on the other hand, sobbed in a high-pitched voice:

“I wanna go with _Domoi_!”

The Major sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He was still away from turning thirty and he already felt too old for… Well, for any of this.

“Yes. Yes, Juliet, let’s see _Domoi_.”

 

 

The major ended up finding Butler at the training rooms, hitting the punching bag. His strength wasn’t enough to make it move more than a few inches, and his technique was terrible. He was fourteen after all. A fourteen year old shouldn’t need to be an expert in fighting.

_Get up. Get up, you don’t get to lie useless on the ground until you’re dead._

Madam Ko clearly did not think the same when she punched him square in the jaw during his training years. The fact that he was the youngest under her training didn’t get her to be considerate of his pain, both physical and psychological.

Victoria Commons’ smile invaded his mind, and he shook his head sharply. _No._ He had enough of those damn memories. The nightmares were enough already. He watched Juliet waddling up to her brother to then plop on the tatami, looking up to him with a wide grin on her face. The girl absolutely loved Butler, she couldn’t even notice how pissed he looked. Butler returned her smile briefly to then go back to punching, and the Major walked up to him, positioning himself behind his nephew to then grab his wrist right before his fist landed on the bag.

“You’ll hurt your wrist like this. Place your fist close to your chin. Higher.” he held his arms now, guiding him on a slow motion “There. You need to keep your hands high, okay? This is how you protect yourself, you need to keep them face-level so that if your opponent tries to hit you, you'll have your face guarded. Good, now when you throw a punch, twist your arm inwards in the same move, that way you gain a boost in your strength. Go.”

Butler punched the bag again, one, two times. Before he could make the third, the Major grabbed his arm again.

“Try not to go all the way. If you have your arm entirely straight ahead, it can be easily bent on the other direction by an enemy and broken, and you don’t want that. Try again.”

Butler did. And curse their stupid genes, the kid was naturally good at this. Butler seemed to feel pumped, punching over and over, and the Major had to grab his arm for the third time now in orded to stop him.

“Don’t get carried away. I see you haven’t even wrapped your hands, much less put on any gloves, and as much pleased as Madam Butler would be to know that I let you bleed your fists out on the bag, I really like to keep the dojo clean.

Butler broke free of his hold snarling to then run his hand through his blond hair.

“Why did you come back? I thought you were gone forever.”

_So did I_ , thought the Major to himself, but despite the fact that being a Marine was his dream, he never really managed to be able to feel connected there. He felt something pulling him back to the Manor, back to the bodyguard duty that his mother had affirmed to be his fate, and after thinking long and hard he realized the reason for that was that he didn’t want Domovoi to end up being pushed into the job. Young master Artemis was growing up fast and would need a Butler to watch over him, as Madam Butler was busy taking care of his father, leaving the spot by young mr. Fowl to either Butler or the Major. If someone would have to take the burden, let it be me, he had thought back then.

“I want to help you, Butler.” said the Major, exhaling sharply “Let me try to help you.”

“Don’t want your goddamn help. Just stay the hell away from me.” Butler crouched to grab Juliet’s little hand, and his voice was softer now “Come on, Juliet.”

Butler seemed like he wanted to rush away again, but since Juliet’s steps were slow and uneasy, he walked slowly to match her pace. The Major sighed.

“I will be off for the next two weeks, Butler. Young Master Fowl has business at France and I will be watching over him.”

Butler’s step seemed to hesitate, halting his walk, and Juliet stopped too, looking up to her brother.

“I don’t care.” snarled Butler over his shoulder “Go. Leave. Don’t bother saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” said the Major, his deep voice echoing in the training dojo walls “I should’ve been faster. Should’ve gotten there on time to save your parents. I failed you, and I know it.”

Butler drew a sharp breath to then drag Juliet by her hand, walking away as the little girl tried to catch up to him without tripping, holding tightly on his hand. The Major sighed.

 

 

Butler knocked two times in the office door before being asked to come in by Artemis, and when he got in, he could see young master Fowl looking pleased with himself at the phone, gesturing for the Major to wait for him to finish the conversation.

“Sure.” said him with a nod “Everything is set, then? Good. Speak to you soon.”

Artemis hung up, looking up at the Major. Sometimes the bodyguard could hardly believe that the little baby he had seen before departing for Madam Ko’s training had turned into this grown man who seemed to be very aware of his duty as the only heir to the Fowl empire. A criminal empire, he knew that and was ready to do whatever it took to be worthy of its name.

Artemis had black hair, darker than his father’s, that he would style carefully parted to the side. His dark hair and pale skin accentuated his clear blue eyes even more, and his features were delicate, except for his accentuated cheekbones and full eyebrows. His stern features turned into a pleased smile.

“I’ve just received a word from our men in Paris. Good thinking, getting us a private jet. It will be safer than a commercial flight, but I fear it might be more suspicious too. We do have a name, after all, even though nothing could ever been proved against us.”

“Yes, but the Fowls have no history with the French for the past hundred years.” affirmed the Major, his hands behind his back “I doubled checked. They’ll hardly make this troublesome for us in any way, sir.”

“Hm.” hummed Mr. Fowl with a nod, joining the tips of his fingers “Is everything set for us to leave, then?”

“Yes.”

No, it wasn’t. Leaving a young, irritable Domovoi Butler under the sole care of Madam Butler didn’t sound like the best idea. He felt like he could come back to find the kid tied up by his ankles at the wine cellar. Madam Butler wouldn’t lay a finger on baby Juliet, but she didn’t have much patience with the Major himself when he was a teenager.

“Are you still here with me, Butler?”, asked Mr. Fowl with a curious tone to his voice, and the Major wanted to punch himself for getting distracted with his family matters in front of his charge.

“Yes, I am, sir.”, he blurted out, letting his arms fall to the sides of his body

“Good. Things may take an ugly turn during this operation.” Mr. Fowl got his golden pen off the desk and started twirling it between his fingers “I count on you to be worthy of everything your mother told my father about.”

Butler nodded firmly. It was his first mission out of the country. Not even close to mr. Fowl’s trips to his tailor or his favorite restaurants. This would take planning, concentration, focusing, all the things he had learned at Ko’s Academy. All for his charge. His life, if it was necessary. That was the code. That was the price of his blue diamond.

Mr. Fowl got up, tugging on the cuffs of his shirt.

“Have you spoken to your nephew of our departure?”

“Yes, sir. Ah, Sir…” the Major saw master Fowl lifting his eyes to him again “I wanted to thank you once more for taking them in. I wouldn’t like for them to be away from their family.”

Mr. Fowl raised his eyebrows, nodding nonchalantely.

“As long as they stay out of me and my father’s way, there’s no problem in having them here. The situation with your sister and her husband was quite shocking. We cannot control this kind of thing.”

And he walked towards the door that was promptly opened by the Major. He couldn’t really demand more than having a roof over his nephew and niece’s head, but he was rather pleased to see that mr. Fowl seemed completely uninterested in the idea of marrying anyone. This meant that, at least for now, Domovoi wouldn’t be tied to the obligation of watching over the next Fowl in line.

No, Butler would be a normal kid, even if it took the Major the duty to live long enough to protect Master Artemis and his son, were he to ever have one. No way he’d let Madam Butler drag another of them into this crazy bodyguarding business.

 

 

At the airport, everything went just fine. The fake identities that the Major’s man had gotten them worked perfectly – they were disguised as a two respectable Frenchman who had been in Ireland for business and were eager to go back home.

“So you’re my father” said Mr. Fowl amused, looking at his passport “Yves, and I’m Jacques.”

“Switch to French, sir.” Requested the Major in a murmur “It’ll be more convincing. _Oui?_ ”

“Yes, you are right, my friend.” replied Mr. Fowl in impeccable French, glancing to his  bodyguard while they strode to the gates “Is it me or do you seem tense?”

The Major kept looking around discreetly. Airports. Too big, too many exits, the crowds of people passing by, so many places for a possible assassin to be hiding.

“It’s my job to be tense, sir, so that you don’t have to be.” he said, echoing his mother’s words to Mr. Fowl’s father

Mr. Fowl smiled to himself, still maintaining the flawless French in his words.

“Excellent.” and he raised his voice a little bit as the Major handed their passports to the young man at the counter “Dad, did you call Amélie to let her know we’ll be home soon? I can’t wait to hold my baby girl again.”

The Major smiled to himself. Mr. Fowl wouldn’t be caught dead calling Mr. Fowl Sir anything other than “Father”, so the casual “Dad” – papá as he had said it in French – felt weird like snow in May.

“I did.” answered the Major casually “I’m sure she misses you. I can’t wait to see my granddaughter too.”

The young man in the counter returned their passports, smiling.

“Everything all right. Have a safe trip back home.”

 

* * *

 

 

The major was still triple-checking  the space under the bed when Mr. Fowl walked in the bedroom, tugging on his necktie while absently reading his notes to then plop himself on the fort mattress.

“There are no bombs in the room, Butler, relax for once.”

Butler stood back up, moving up to the wall to stand in his guarding position, sounding vaguely annoyed.

“If I relax, sir, we’ll both end up dead.”

He bit his tongue. He wasn’t supposed to make snarky retorts at his charge. He was to provide security and abide to his charge’s every whim, and that was all. Though he had been young Master Fowl’s teacher in many aspects on his early life ever since his father’s illness overtook him, he was his employee, and nothing more. But damn it if Artemis did not remind him of a certain Victoria Commons.

No. Stop. Don’t go there. Don’t remember.

He drew a sharp breath, exhaling slowly. In and out. In. And. Out. That was in the past. Everything was in the past. Mr. Fowl glanced at him, running his fingers through his hair.

“Butler.”

“Sir?”, asked Butler, turning to face his charge.

Artemis sighed, shifting on the bed uncomfortably.

“My father is dying.”

Butler gazed at Mr. Fowls clear blue eyes. They didn’t exactly show sadness, but they weren’t completely detached either. It was as if young Mr. Fowl didn’t know how to feel about the issue.

“Sir?...” echoed the Major in surprise, unsure of how to respond to his boss’ statement

“His lungs are collapsing.” continued Mr. Fowl, now lifting his eyes to the ceiling “I asked him to tell me if he needed anything, and…”

Artemis swallowed hard, and his jaw trembled just slightly. The Major took one single step forward, respecting the distance he was supposed to have from his charge while maintaining vigilance.

“I’m listening, master Fowl.”

Artemis inhaled sharply, nodding a few times to then pinch the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes shut.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else.” he muttered “He asked me to get that painting.”

The Major nodded. That was their mission, stealing an unique piece by impressionist painter Claude Monet and leaving France with it unnoticed. One hell of an assignment for their first international trip as charge and bodyguard, but when had a Fowl ever have been reasonable?

“It was my mother’s favorite. And I asked if we are going to keep it in the manor and he said that I’m supposed to re-sell it, so I ask him” Artemis swallowed again, his jaw clenched in tension “I ask him, ‘what about mother?’. So he says…” and by that point, he sat up, looking at the Major dead in the eye. “' _She’s dead and soon I will be too. Don’t be sentimental. Steal the painting, get the money, move on. Don’t get attached to anything because in the end, you’ll only get hurt._ ' What do you think about that, Butler?”

The Major looked into Mr. Fowl’s eyes, seeing a hint of anger in them, despite his collected expression.

“I think your father is a bitter old man.”

The words escaped the Major’s mouth before he could stop himself, and his eyes widened with the realization of the harshness they carried. Artemis glared at him for almost a full minute before cracking a smile and letting out a discreet laugh through his nose. He put his feet on the floor, getting up and reaching for the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling a pack of cigarettes as he walked to the balcony that the Major had triple-checked before.

“Sir,” called the Major, following him close “should you be…?”

Mr. Fowl lit up his cigarette, drawing the smoke without even looking over his shoulder to his bodyguard.

“If I’m lucky enough, my lungs will last long as Father’s. Come here.”, he gestured, and the Major joined his charge in the balcony, taking the view of the French city skyline. “Can you see it?”

The Musée Marmottan Monet was a beautiful construction that could be easily seen from the five-star hotel room. The Major nodded and Mr. Fowl smirked.

“It was a hunting lodge before. Belonged to the Duke of Valmy and was bought in 1882 by Jules Marmottan, whose son Paul had another hunting lodge built to house his private collection of art pieces. Upon his death he bequeathed all his collections and house – which became a Museum in 1934.”

The Major smiled to himself. Mr. Fowl really loved this kind of historical stuff. It was familiar to the bodyguard now, his charge’s nature. As a matter of fact, despite his cold demeanor, the Major felt like Artemis was kind of like a younger sibling, like… Like Katya.

He flinched at the memory, and Mr. Fowl frowned at him.

“Are you okay, Butler?”

_Get a grip. Get a goddamn grip!_

The Major nodded sharply.

“Yes, sir. The plan…” he drew a breath trying not to think about how Mr. Fowl’s cigarette’s smoke reminded him of Victoria Commons “The plan remains the same, correct? We are going to the exhibit tomorrow to check the surroundings and in the next day…”

“Our heist.” Completed Mr. Fowl, gazing back at the museum “I’m counting on you, Butler.”

“Leave it to me, sir.”


	2. Couture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Major and Artemis have time on their first trip as charge and bodyguard to exchange a few words, leaning more about each other while planning the great heist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. This was going to be a small oneshot fic. What is happening. Why.

Artemis Fowl woke up to the smell of a delicious breakfast set on the table by his bed and was greeted by his bodyguard with a nod. The Major stood straight as if he’d been waiting for his charge to wake up. This was the mark of a Butler – always two steps ahead, like a well-oiled machine ready to aid his master in every need.

“Godd morning, sir. You will find that your meal is as you had requested it. I may had caused some discomfort on the young lady who brought it in – apparently the French hotel staff workers are not fond of being seen as possible assassins.”

Mr. Fowl let out a discreet laugh through his nose while he pushed the many silk covers aside, sitting up in order to eat.

“According to your mother, the German hotel staff workers are not very different.”

He spread some butter over a piece of toast, looking pensive, and the Major caught himself wondering whether if Butler would be eating properly back at the manor. Juliet too, he hoped his mother was being sweet to her at least, and he almost scoffed; the mental image of Madam Butler singing lullabies was almost comical. Mr. Fowl, however, grabbed a croissant walking up to the window as he took a bite of it.

“Are you feeling something weird about this?” he asked, and the Major was taken aback.

Mr. Fowl would not start conversations about how his employee would be feeling. The Major frowned in curiosity.

“The heist, sir?”

Mr. Fowl nodded, finishing off his croissant. The Major lift his shoulders in what would be a hint of a shrug.

“It’s a complex operation, but we took our time planning it, and we’re checking the perimeter today in order to avoid any surprises such as a change in the guard or recent changes in the blueprint. I find it hard to believe that we may have any trouble.”

Mr. Fowl tapped a finger to his lips, scanning the horizon.

“I can feel something. Electricity in my skin, I don’t know, like… Sixth sense? Energy?”

“Magic?” guessed the Major, and Mr. Fowl scoffed

“Don’t be silly, Butler, there is no such thing as magic.” He glanced at the museum across the wide avenue “Call it what you will, but something is going to happen there and I don’t know what it is. It’s an interesting feeling, not knowing. Not sure I’m a fan of it though.”

The Major felt a shiver running up his spine but urged himself to dismiss it. It were only words. Rich people and their superstitions – nothing would happen. They had a mission, steal the painting, and the Major had a primary goal: protecting his charge. That was the top priority. All else would come next.

* * *

 

Mr Fowl had decided to wait for the afternoon to visit the exhibit, taking the morning to stroll on the streets of Paris, taking in the sights and having his fun on the busy streets, spending an amount of money some people would never see in their whole lives on designer clothes and unnecessary gifts to himself.

After introducing himself to a very elegant saleswoman at the Boucher Maison, located at one of the busiest streets of Paris, both Mr. Fowl and the Major were guided into a more secluded area, where the businesslike store would seem more like a beautiful atelier. There, a tall man wearing thick-framed glasses and his hair combed back raised a hand to shake Mr. Fowl’s.

That was prestigious French fashion designer Jean Boucher himself. Madam Butler had mentioned something about accompanying both Mr. Fowl Sir and young Artemis to this same atelier many years ago, when the Major was still with the marines. It seemed like even before that, when Artemis was really young and his mother was still alive, they’d often go to his atelier.

Mr. Fowl had shaken the man’s hand with what seemed like an honest smile, his French a bit smudged on his Irish accent now that he was not hiding who he was.

“It took me long enough, Jean, but I’ve managed to have a bit of time before I took care of some business here in Paris, and of course I would like you to tailor me another of your masterpieces.”

Mr. Boucher smiled back, now shaking the Major’s hand while still keeping his eyes on Mr. Fowl.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” his smile faltered “I heard about your mother, Mr. Fowl. You have my most sincere condolences.”

Mr. Fowl hesitated, looking pained for a second before adjusting his features back into cordialness with a nod. Mr. Boucher reached for the measuring tape that hanged on his neck and over his shoulders like a loosely worn scarf.

“It’s been a while, I’ll have to re-take your measurements. The last time we made you a suit, you were just a little boy, and you were with your father. How is he doing lately? Has his health have any improvements, I hope?”

Mr. Fowl shook his head, climbing on the step in order for Mr Boucher to take his measurements. The designer knelt by Mr. Fowl, taking the measurements from his waist to his ankles, and Mr Fowl continued:

“I’m afraid not. He’s gotten much worse, actually.”

Mr. Boucher grimaced to let out a sigh, now wrapping the measuring tape around Mr. Fowl’s hips.

“He’s a strong man.” he said, taking a pause to write the measurements down on a notebook he had pulled out of his pocket “He’ll be better soon, I’m certain of it. He used to come here often with your mother, god rest her soul, and she loved our coats.”

Pain flickered in Artemis’ eyes, but it did not erase his smile.

“She had good taste. Hopefully, that was passed on to me.” Artemis took a second to glance over his shoulder to Butler “Oh, and please take the measurements of my butler as well, as he is in desperate need of a coat. We are not spending another second in France, of all places, with you wearing this old rag.”

The Major allowed himself to raise one eyebrow.

“With all due respect, sir, it’s a good coat. It’s Lacoste. It’s…”

“From three winters ago.” cut off Artemis, rolling his eyes “Have some self-respect, sir, my treat. The jacket, not the self-respect. That’s on you.”

The Major could see a smug grin on Mr. Fowl’s face, and he didn’t remember seeing him looking so pleased with himself in a long time, so he smiled back.

“She used to touch everything, always fascinated by your little tools.” said Artemis to Mr. Boucher, still smiling, but in a softer way “She was so curious, wanted to know everything about anything.”

So remembering the late Madam was getting Artemis in high spirits, thought Butler to himself. _Good for him. For some of us, memories don’t bring nothing but pain and regret._

* * *

 

When they were back at the hotel, where Artemis had spent almost the entire time gazing at the museum across the wide avenue while the sky was starting to get slowly painted in pink shades as the sun went down, however, Artemis looked rather gloomy. Despite the distance he was supposed to keep from his charge, Butler decided to join him in the Balcony, where the wind was strong enough to mess even Artemis’ slick combed hair.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

Artemis sighed, shaking his head.

“No.” he made a pause “Yes. I’m not sure. Do you ever feel as if there’s nothing you can’t do? As if you are all-powerful?”

Hardly. The Major had had his life steered by his mother and the twists and turns of fate his entire life. Artemis seemed to understand that his question was rather confusing, so he rephrased it:

“I’m not talking about wealth. Let’s see for instance: you are, as far as we know it, the most dangerous man on Earth. Your mother and her… contacts have confirmed it so.”

The Major unconsciously grabbed his own right arm, where the blue diamond tattoo had been done. Artemis turned to face him, supporting his hip against the balcony.

“So, as far as we know it” he continued “No one can beat you. Any men, any threat to you is insignificant. There’s nothing for you to fear. However…”

He pressed his lips in a fine line, pensive.

“However…?” asked the Major, knitting his brows

Artemis blinked as if he’d forgotten what he was going on about.

“Doesn’t it get boring at some point? Not fearing?”

The Major suddenly saw a flash of bloodstains in the snow, heard the sound of ragged breathing and gunfire. When he blinked, back at the balcony, he wasn’t aware if he had flinched or not. Now wide-eyed, he looked at Artemis’ clear eyes.

“I’ll have to say that I prefer it much more when I am not fearing for anything. Especially for your life,” he added “Now can we both please leave this sniper’s dream come true that you call a balcony, sir?”

Artemis chuckled, shaking his head, and Butler gave in to his curiosity.

“Do you mind if I ask why are you asking me this?”

Artemis turned back to gaze at the sky above, that grew more and more purple as the sun died in the horizon.

“If… When my father passes, I’ll be in charge of the family business. It’s…” he drew a breath “Too much power. I don’t think… I don’t _know_ if I’m capable of managing it. I’m not like him. I've never been.” Artemis sighed rubbing his neck. “I’m afraid I’ll destroy everything my ancestors worked so hard for.”

The major took a step forward, reaching for his charge’s shoulder.

“Second most dangerous.”, he said

Artemis frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m the second most dangerous.” explained the Major “That is the true.”

Artemis turned his head to look at the Major’s faced with amusement.

“And who is the most dangerous, then?”

“A man I’ve trained under for some time. The last time I heard of him, he was punching palm trees in the pacific.”

Artemis cracked a smile, and for some reason, the Major felt relieved. He was glad to not see Artemis looking so worried. Madam Ko’s words invaded his brain: “ _emotions will slow you down. Attachment will get you killed”_. Artemis-- _The charge_ was his mission, the Major was out of his place seeing a younger brother in him.

“Why palm trees?” asked Artemis still amused “There are about ten kinds of woods that would prove to be much harder for him to tear his fists on.”

The Major shrugged, getting his hand off Artemis’ shoulder. Artemis scratched his forehead, sounding mildly curious:

“What is it between you and your nephew? That kid seems to hate you.”

The Major frowned, turning his eyes to the busy streets.

“His parents died recently and he never seemed to really assimilate what happened. It’s… It’s being complicated for him.”

Opening up about this with someone who wouldn’t brush off Domovoi’s feelings was a good change from Madam Butler’s demeanor. _No,_ he had censured himself, _don’t open up. Don’t make connections._ Artemis, however, gave a sympathetic frown.

“It’s complicated for anyone. Losing a mother, it’s…” He trailed off, walking back into the bedroom to then check his wristwatch. “We should leave in a couple of hours, before the museum gets too crowded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is ready but still in need of review because I've written it at two in the morning so there must be a ton of grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, I'm so sorry if there are any mistakes on this chapter!


	3. Angel, Wine and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Major and Artemis go to the exhibit at the museum and meet someone interesting. The Butler and his charge share some stories. Unwanted memories come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little warning for drinking, PTSD, nightmares and blood.

The Major wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Fowl had demanded to take a car to the museum despite it being two streets away, but the young Irishman seemed rather pleased at the thought of walking on the Parisian streets at night, watching the crowds of tourists being slowly replaced by the romantic couples going on dates and the young adults (and a few adventurous minors) looking to forward to partying all night long. During all their way to the museum, Mr. Fowl talked about every single fact he could remember about French history, and that was a lot. The Major let about thirty percent of his attention to get caught on his words, and all the rest of it to focus on their surroundings; the giggling woman with her hair tied up in a braid holding a tall man’s arm walking past them and crossing the street, the young man in a leather jacket looking around nervously, everything that could be a threat to his charge’s safety.

"...you listening to me, Butler?" asked Mr. Fowl, and the Major nodded

"Yes, sir." answered the Major, still looking around "Normands. Lord Hugh de Folé and my ancestor, Virgil Butler. The irony of you and me being in France for this job. Very amusing."

Mr. Fowl scoffed.

"I wonder if _your_ ancestor was also so constantly tense."

"Only if _your_ ancestor were also prone to coming up with complicated schemes."

The Major and Mr. Fowl had no problems getting in the museum, turning their dialogue into a warmer French in their following words to add to their father and son disguise. The place had its walls, ceilings and floors in white, and was lit by lamps of a soft pale light, everything evidencing the colorful paintings hanging there even more. Artemis ignored the proposed order in which the exhibit displayed Monet’s works, walking to the fifth painting in that row.

"Now, don’t forget it, we’re father and son." reminded Mr. Fowl in a low whisper as they walked in "Now stop standing behind me and come to my side. And be more discreet of your looking around, they’ll think we’re paranoid."

"Ah, yes, appearances, the greater of my concerns on this matter." grumbled the Major, taking Artemis’ side and fighting the urge to keep his focused expression instead of replacing it with one of pleasant entertainment

Mr. Fowl stopped in front of a large impressionist painting that featured a number of water lilies, putting his hands behind his back and glancing at Butler, who was still double-checking the visitors one by one.

“He was a visionary.” said Mr. Fowl almost to himself “His technique, his use of color…”

“Yes.” muttered the Major almost to himself too as well, mapping the location of each and every security camera in his brain “Pretty flowers. Fantastic.”

Artemis took his time admiring the paintings, which did not bother the Major at all, as he had time to keep an eye on the security (so it really hadn’t change from what he had researched. Good). The renovation that could’ve altered the place’s blueprint was also delayed, another point in their favor. This could be easy. _When things look easy, it’s your duty to never let yourself relax_ , had said Madam Ko.

Artemis ended up walking to a curved room with white walls on which more paintings were hanged and suddenly he was walking fast-paced but not quite running to the third of them.

“It’s here. I found it.”

The Major took wide strides to rush to his side withoud drawing attention. Artemis stood in front of a painting that represented a bay or the ocean in strokes of a washed-off blue, ships of a darker blue floating and smoke in the air, an orange sunset (or sunrise?) shining over the water. Art wasn’t really the Major’s specialty, but he couldn’t really see anything remarkable or special about the piece. Leave it alone, thought the Major still paying attention to the possible escape routes and security guards, this is for master Artemis to be pleased, not you.

And pleased he was, smiling to himself. The Major could see in Artemis’ for the first time since they had been paired as charge and bodyguard, the nineteen-year old he hid behind his cold demeanor. Ever since he was a young boy, he’d seem older because of his collected expression and his wide vocabulary. When the Major had just returned from Madam Ko’s training, he was even confused, for he could have sworn that he’d return on time to meet Artemis at the age of eight, and was surprised by a boy who spoke like a teenager and had the patience of an old man.

A small smile twisted the Major’s lips. Domovoi, who was twelve back then, was actually surprised to be able to have conversations with a kid four years younger. Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to chat with Artemis, or anyone for that matter -  it would’ve been good for Domovoi to at least try to make friends, even if that friend was the Major’s charge.

The Major heard the punctuated footsteps of someone wearing high heels, and immediately snapped out of his memories, looking over his shoulder to see a young woman walking towards them. He slid his hand into his jacket, brushing his fingers on the grip of his holstered gun. It could be just a woman. It could be a hired assassin. The Fowls had a name, and quite a lot of people willing to take out the next man in the line of succession.

The young woman had a small frame and very delicate features; Her blond hair was shoulder-length and cut asymmetrically, a long fringe of pale-blond locks falling a bit over her right eye. She wore a royal blue cache-coeur blouse paired with a black pencil skirt and gold hoop earrings, and she had a shy smile on her mouth. Judging by her appearance, the Major supposed she weren’t much younger than Artemis himself. Too young to be a curator. Could be a tour guide, but she wasn’t wearing the plain black pantsuit of the museum’s staff. Butler clenched his teeth, wishing he could just pull his gun out of its holster without causing panic and drawing attention.

“You seem to be very fond of this piece, sir.” she said in French, still smiling to Artemis “Are you a fan Monet’s work too?”

“Of course.”, answered Artemis without turning to look at her, still gazing at the painting

“This is a rather special piece, in my opinion.” said the woman walking towards Artemis to stop a few steps to his side “Everyone loves the nymphées, but this one always gets to me. The endless blue  water, the soft, timid colors, the washed off background and then” her voice rose with excitement as she lifted her hand to point at the piece “there’s this bright orange sun, shining in the middle of the cold palette. It's magnificent, isn’t it?”

Artemis blinked, his eyes still on the painting. The Major was just waiting for his cue to shoo the woman away. People usually wouldn’t hang out any longer after being told to scram by a man of his size. Instead of nodding at the girl to the Major as he expected Artemis to, however, Artemis just raised an eyebrow.

“You sound very passionate.”

The woman’s smile widened.

“I believe that anyone who doesn’t feel passionate about art must be dead inside.”

Artemis scoffed softly, still not looking at the woman.

“I take you are an art lover.”

The woman wasn’t looking at Artemis anymore. Both admired the painting while exchanging their words in the soft murmur adequate for the museum’s atmosphere.

“Student. I’m a fine arts major from the Acádemie de Beux-Arts. Aren’t you fond of impressionism? People seem to be obsessed over baroque and realism and treat impressionism as a lesser form of art, as if it wasn’t a proper portrayal of the world around us. They do the same to cubism and neoplasticism, and I understand the discourse but in my opinion, Caravaggio’s shadows weren’t any more impressive than Monet’s lighting.”

Artemis did not answer to the woman’s words, and apparently she took it as an encouragement to keep talking.

“The multiple strokes seem to be moving, like waves, like a coursing river. It’s so much more alive than realistic art.”

The Major almost rolled his eyes at that. _Great, so there’s another one just like Mr. Fowl._ Artemis, however, finally turned to face the woman. His jaw lost its tension to let his lips slightly parted and the Major knitted his brows – was that _Artemis Fowl_ gaping at a pretty woman? The sun might as well rise from the west on the following morning, shocking as it was.

But that was still Artemis. He shut his mouth on a knowing smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“I must disagree on your assessment. Monet’s strokes do not look like waves, but flames. Always moving, raging, as in demand for something.”

The woman’s eyes widened just slightly, and a smirk twisted her lips.

“And what do you think they’re demanding for?” she asked curiously

Artemis looked into her eyes

“To be known. To be seen. What does an artist want more then acknowledgement, fame and wealth?”

At that, the woman frowned.

“Art is not just a mean to achieve wealth, sir.”

“We all need to eat, miss, even artists. It would be foolish to deny it.”

The woman pursed her lips, gazing back at the painting.

“Well, since you believe to be such an expert, I take it as you know that this piece is from 1874.”

“Do you mean 1982?” retorted Artemis, not looking back at the painting, but staring at the woman “The year of 1874 was when it was introduced along with his many other pieces to the public at his atelier.”

The woman gave a cunning smile now, looking rather pleased with herself.

“Do you mean at the ‘Painters, Sculptors, Engravers etc. Inc.’ exhibit, led by Monet himself, Degas, Pissarro, Renoir and Sisley, featuring their paintings as well? This piece, ‘Impression Sunrise’ was the first documented piece of impressionist art.”

Artemis tapped a finger to his chin, amused.

“I’m sure you mean that Daubigny and Manet were already using the term before that.”

The woman was laughing softly now.

“Okay, this was fun.”, she placed a hand over her chest, looking from Mr. Fowl to the Major “I apologize for not introducing myself until now. My name is Angeline. Angeline LeClair.”

She then offered her hand to Mr. Fowl, who shook it with a small smile curling his lips.

“My name is Jacques Bonheur, and this is my father Yves.”

Angeline smiled to the Major, who had no choice but to shake her hand as well. It was small and soft, which meant she wasn’t likely to be a threat. No fingers coarse from the habit of gripping weapons and pulling triggers, like Victoria and Elliot’s…

No. Keep it out. Keep the memories out.

“…To see you again.” He managed to hear Angeline say to Mr. Fowl “I must go now, I have a pile of reports waiting for me to write, and I’ll probably end up having to come here again a few more times in order to get all the material I need. Enjoy the exhibit.”

Angeline left, her heels clicking with each step that dyed away in the distance. Mr. Fowl let out a long sigh as if he’d run a marathon.

“I was _not_ expecting someone to flirt with me out of the blue like that.”

The Major frowned, amused.

“Yes, it was unexpected, sir.” His frown deepened as he scrunched up his nose in shock “Wait, was that flirting?”

Artemis scoffed, turning on his heels and shaking his head.

“I believe we got all the intel we needed, right? Let’s head back to the hotel.”

* * *

 

Artemis had asked for privacy, so the Major took his time to try and meditate in his adjoined room, drawing long, deep breaths. In and out. In. And. Out. The past was done. The future was unknown. The present was all he could grasp.

_Get up. Get up, you don’t get to lie there useless, not until you’re dead._

Let the memories pass by. Don’t get caught on them. Breathe. Empty your mind.

_C’mon, Butler, let’s make some s’mores, Madam Ko won’t find out!_

Don’t remember. Memories are useless, tiresome shadows in your brain.

_You’re damn attractive…_

Don’t go there. Keep breathing. Change subject. Free your mind.

If Mr. Fowl was into that girl and they went out together, would he have to watch over them while they made their silly art jokes and gazed on each other eyes, kissing like he and Elliot had done in the forest, the cold, snowy forest, where there was blood and corpses and Victoria begging for him to tell her son that she loved him, and he never really did, did he? What a disgrace, unable to even keep his promises to a dead woman…

The Major’s eyes snapped open, and he let out a pained breath, holding his head on his hands. Stop doing that. Stop remembering. You aren’t that eighteen-year-old kid anymore, grow the hell up.

He let go of his head with a groan to check the time on the wristwatch he’d left on the nightstand. It was almost midnight. It wouldn’t be bad to check on Mr. Fowl, ground himself into reality, into his job. The Major got up, stretching his neck to then open the door to Mr. Fowl master suite as silently as possible, expecting to see Mr. Fowl fast asleep on the bed under the silk sheets but instead his charge was beside the dinner table, apparently in the middle of an attempt to uncork a bottle of red wine. It took the Major a second to hear very soft jazz music coming from the vinyl player, and he rushed to his charge, pulling him a chair and reaching for the bottle.

“I… Expected you to be asleep, sir. May I?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” said Mr. Fowl with an annoyed grunt, giving up on opening the bottle and handing it to the Major

Mr. Fowl then sat down, and the Major opened the bottle with ease, sniffing the rim of it while Artemis raised an  eyebrow.

“If you want my opinion,” he said with a smirk “this is not how you should smell a good wine”

The Major ignored the comment, unable to really tell if Mr. Fowl had meant it or if he was joking.

“It’s not that hard to poison someone’s drink, sir.”

“It was corked and sealed, it’s from last night’s auction.” said Mr. Fowl rolling his eyes

“Needles don’t leave marks that are easy to trace.”

Butler was now had one of his eyes closed, squinting to look at the dark red liquid inside the bottle after double-checking the cork.

“You might as well hold it carefully. I won it on an auction for about two thousand francs.”

Butler’s eyes widened and he placed the bottle very carefully on the table with the air sitting still in his lungs. Mr. Fowl nodded nonchalantly.

“1958 was a good year for the French wineries. Pity we can’t say the same for the Irish ones. So, does it seem poisoned to you?”

Butler pressed his lips shaking his head as if he disapproved his charge’s preference for taking risks on fancy wines that could have been poisoned.

“It doesn’t look like it is, sir.”

“Then what are you waiting for to pour me a glass?”

The Major grabbed the bottle, serving Mr. Fowl and as he was halfway done, Mr. Fowl pointed at the other empty glass across the table. He raised his eyes to the Major and smiled from the corner of his lips, sounding amused:

“Would you join me for a drink, Butler?” The Major blinked in surprise, placing the bottle atop of the table once again “I’ve heard before that it’s very sad for a man to drink alone, so sit down, will you?”

The Major folded his arms on his back, straightening himself up.

“I’m currently working, sir. I am not supposed to drink while on duty.”

Artemis hummed with his eyebrows slightly raised to then raise his glass just a little, carefully inclining it to the side in order to see the wine’s deep red shade against the ceiling light. He then brought the glass close to his lips, breathing in the drink’s scent with a small smile on his lips.

“Am I your boss?”

The Major hesitated to then nod.

“Of course you are, sir.”

“Then I order you to sit down and have a glass of wine with me.” he gestured to the empty chair across the elegant round table decorated with a small vase of delicate crystal with fresh camellias “Now.”

The Major grit his teeth, lowering his eyes and waving his head.

“Sir…”

“One glass.” Insisted Mr. Fowl “Just keep me company. It’s part of your duty as a Butler.”

* * *

 

They had drained over half of the bottle at that point, and Mr. Fowl was pouring the Major another glass. The Major raised his hand hesitantly.

“Mr. Fowl…”

“It won’t kill you to call me Artemis, Butler.” said Mr. Fowl, pouring the wine despite the Major’s protest “I’m not my father. I won’t shoot a man dead because I feel like he’d disrespected me. That little tantrum of his caused a mess in our relationship with the Russians, I’m sure your mother has told you.”

He poured himself some more wine too, and the bottle was almost entirely empty now. The Major sighed, wondering if another sip would affect his aim while simultaneously imagining if maybe the alcohol would allow him to have at least that one night free of the nightmares that had been plaguing him since the day he got his blue diamond tattoo. In the end, he just took another sip, swallowing hard.

“Sir… Artemis.” said the Major, setting his glass on the table “Is there anything wrong?”

Artemis was moving his left hand slowly on the rhythm of the Billie Holliday vinyl playing, gazing at the wine glass in his right one and remaining silent. He was a strange person, Artemis. He would resemble his father, cold, dry, a strategist, and in the next minute he would remind the Major of a teenager like Domovoi, annoyed by any effort made by others to try and understand him. One way or another, he would never look like the twenty one-year-old man he actually was, perhaps because he felt incredibly out of place in this position. He wasn’t old enough to be able to steer a criminal empire, neither was he young enough to feel as if it was appropriate to ask for anybody’s help.

A terrified billionaire, heir to one of the most powerful criminal empires in the world. What an odd concept.

“No.” said Artemis out of the blue, and his answer to the question startled what the Major realized in distraught that he was a bit tipsy already “Yes.” Aremis sighed “I don’t know for sure. Ever since I saw what happened to my father after my mother’s death, I mean…”

 _The charge will confide in you_ , had said Madam Ko, _it is part of your duty to give him advice, while still remaining completely professional. Your charge is not your family. Your charge is not your sibling, or your child. Your charge is the person you must watch over, and nothing more than that. Dare to make an emotional connection and you’re gone._

But Madam Ko’s words seemed to be muffled inside the Major’s brain due to all that alcohol, and he caught himself wishing that if he had failed Domovoi so terribly maybe he could at least not fail Artemis. _Talk to me, boy. I’m listening._

And Artemis talked.

“He told me it wasn’t wise to try and make connections, and I lived my life by this, but now I just… I don’t know…” his words were slurred in the heavy irish accent he’d slip back into whenever they were by themselves back in the hotel “The girl, she was just stunning.”

The Major leaned against his chair, folding his arms over his chest. The wine had its effect on his train of thought, and it took him a few seconds to ask:

“’Girl’? Do you mean the woman in the gallery?...”

Artemis’ eyes seemed to flicker, and a smile twisted his lips.

“Yes.” he knit his brows, still smiling “Is it me or was she the most beautiful woman ever?”

The Major let his composure fall in a sly smirk.

“You’ve never been one to be this smiley over a pretty girl… sir.” he added in a poor attempt of maintaining protocol “But, yes, I suppose she was pretty.”

Artemis gulped down the little wine that was still left in his glass, squinting in the thoughtful expression he’d wear whenever he tried to predict stock prices.

“’Pretty’ doesn’t even begin to describe her, she was…” he gestured vaguely “there was something to her. The way she’d speak, her eyes, I don’t know, I can’t pinpoint what it was but she…” he sighed, supporting his elbow on the table and placing his chin on his hand “Am I…” he scoffed “Am I in love?”

The Major raised an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that question, Artemis.”

Artemis bit his tongue, sighing again.

“It’s an odd feeling. I want to forget about the heist and set our goal to going back to the gallery and just wait for her to show up again, even if it takes weeks of months or…” he rubbed his face while a delicate pink shade colored his pale cheeks “Angeline. What a fitting name. Angels are described as marvelous creatures that leave men in a state of awe and, well… I can’t stop thinking of her.”

The Major fidgeted absently with the stem of his glass, smiling to himself. It was really funny, seeing stern Mr. Fowl sounding so distracted. Artemis raised his eyes to the Major, lowering his tone to almost a whisper.

“Have you ever been in love, Butler?”

The Major’s scoffed at first, but then his eye grew wide.

_Blond messy hair, green sharp eyes, a timid Italian accent._

The Major’s right hand bumped on the glass, tilting it over and causing it to spill wine on a deep red stain over the white tablecloth.

“I’m sorry.” The Major blurted out, placing the glass back on its place and getting up “I can call a maid right now to clean this up, or I can do it myself, I am truly sorry…”

Artemis got up too, shaking his head.

“Don’t mind this.” He made a pause while the Major kept rambling on “Butler, are you alright?”

The Major ran his fingers over his short blond hair. His words were slurred and fast at the same time.

“I was clumsy, I apologize.”

“Not about this, you.” Artemis grabbed the Major’s arm “Are you alright?”

The Major looked down to his charge, his dark eyes wide now looking at Artemis’ grip on his arm.  Artemis seemed to realize the breaking of their protocol, unhanding him fast.

“Just leave it.” he said dryly “A maid will tidy this up tomorrow.”

The Major nodded a few times, stumbling to the door to his bedroom.

“It’s getting far too late. We have a heist tomorrow, and you should go to sleep. Good night, Artemis… Sir.”

 

He shut the door before Artemis could even answer. _Not ‘Artemis’_ , he corrected himself, ‘ _Mr. Fowl’_. What a mess. He was bonding with Mr. Fowl as if his charge were his own goddamn troubled kid, trampling all over his code, sharing love stories, how quaint.

Butler wanted to go back to his meditation in order to get his head back on its place, especially before the next day’s operation, but his head felt so heavy and his body so tired, he just plopped himself on his bed and immediately fell asleep.

_Victoria Commons was standing by his side in an ancient Bhutan temple, wearing one of the plain black kimonos Madam Ko’s students would wear for their early trainings. Victoria smiled at him, asking in her American accent:_

_“Hey, I got the blue diamond too! Wanna see?!”_

_She tugged on the kimono’s fabric, pushing it down her shoulder to show a bleeding gunshot wound, and Butler stumbled back into someone whose hands held his shoulders in a tight grip._

_“You sister wasn’t tough as you” the person said in Elliot Peretti’s voice close to his ear “She didn’t put up a fight. She screamed and tried to run away like a coward.”_

_Butler elbowed Peretti on his stomach, breaking free and turning around to face him. He had the same charming smile he used to have back in the academy._

_“It took her a long time to die, coughing in her own blood, begging for me not to hurt her children. And it’s all. Your. Fault.”_

The Major jolted awake, jerking the gun from under his pillow and pointing it straight ahead. Nothing. Hotel Room. Alone. Master Fowl in the adjoined master suite. The Major is panting, slowly lowering his gun to drop it on the matress, clutching his chest. His heart seems to be trying to hammer its way out of it, and he gasps, trying to catch his breath.

“Nightmare.” he whispered to himself in reassurance “Just another goddamn nightmare.”

He got off the bed, walking toward his bedroom window with a view to the city lights and pressing his forehead against the cold glass.

“Get out of my head.” he murmured, now pressing his hands against the glass too “Get the _fuck_ out of my head.”

Mr. Fowl could fall in love all he wanted to, but the mere thought of romance was nauseating for the Major. His heart was still pounding and he let out a pained breath. They had a heist in the following night. He needed to sleep.

He tried to, though. He really did. But after having a new nightmare of Victoria screaming that she wanted to be able to see her son growing up and then his sister Katya blaming the Major for her husband’s death, he just gave up and pulled a chair to the small desk in his bedroom, sitting down with his gun in his hands. The Major disassembled and cleaned it thoroughly to then reassemble it; he checked the museum blueprint for new escape routes; then he tried to remember the names of all the marine soldiers he’d had under his command while he was still on duty; then he grabbed the notebook and pen on the table and tried to draw their faces, realizing that he didn’t pay enough attention to them in order to be able to. So much for not getting attached and now all he wanted was to have meaningful memories to replace the ones that kept resurfacing in his brain.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much for commenting and kudo-ing. You are the best.


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